


Stuck in the Orbit

by harcourt



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: D/s-verse, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this for the kinkmeme, M/M, Past Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harcourt/pseuds/harcourt
Summary: For a prompt where Kent is a sub,on a team full of doms that he has a strict personal rule about not playing with [...] He’s very good friends with Swoops, who is very respectful of his captain’s no-going-down-for-teammates rule, until Kent comes over to play some video games but is actually a wreck.It's cool with Swoops that Parser's set up a no-go zone, applicable to 100% of teammates, including Swoops. Obviously that's a decision that Parser's like, made.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jeff "Swoops" Troy
Comments: 29
Kudos: 124





	1. We'll always have California

It wasn't like Swoops had never _thought_ about Parser. It was kind of hard not to, with so few subs in the league and when he was right there, tearing up the ice and forgetting to finish getting dressed because he was busy arguing about locker room music or whatever. He was cute. Swoops wasn't blind to that, or an idiot who didn't see that other guys noticed it too. Parser being cute and a sub was like, a huge part of why he got his way about the pop music at least some of the time, instead of a blanket veto.

Swoops voted against him anyway, just to do it. Just because Parser always looked so shocked and betrayed like he'd forgotten that Swoops' taste ran to 'rock or die' again.

"Dude," Parser whined, turning to him with his arms open in appeal. He still had his socks on, but no shirt. Stripped down to skin and shorts otherwise. Swoops didn't get his undressing order at all.

"Take turns, Parser," Benji scolded, like he was dealing with a kindergarten. That was about as low as most of the guys got with the sub thing, the being patronizing. Maybe some of them would lean on Parser or put an arm around him on the plane or something, but that was it. Parser didn't even seem to notice it, a lot of the time. He also didn't return any of the overtures, or let anything go beyond that level of teammates being handsy and chirpy and trying to annoy him into reacting. Swoops wasn't dumb enough to think he was an exception, no matter how hard Parser tried to pout him into giving in to terrible song choices. It didn't make him special. It just made him the only one willing to hold out against Parser's tyranny.

" _Fine_ ," Parser said, like Swoops was being really unjust even after they'd all listened to a whole half album of Parser's choosing, and stomped off to pull a t-shirt on, still with the lower half of his practice uniform on.

"Aren't you showering?" Swoops asked, just curious.

Parser scowled, still sulking. "Where do think I'm _going_?" 

Swoops had assumed he was heading out, based on the getting dressed. Parser was such a weirdo, sometimes.

"I gotta see a trainer," Parser admitted a second later, a little apologetic. He might take the shot at being a brat, but he also couldn't pull it off for any length of time before he started to feel bad about being a dick, or started to get antsy about getting away with it. At least he tried, Swoops thought, even though he laughed at Parser for folding anyway. 

"You're just running away from real music," Swoops accused. 

Parser ducked his head a little and made some kind of weird expression--half wry, half shy smile. "I'll see you later?" he asked, not denying it, looking up from under his lashes, not really seductive or anything. More like he was busy changing into sweatpants and was just checking to see if Swoops was following his switch from grouch to pal who wanted a ride from him.

"Sure. I'll be here, forever chauffeuring you until you decide to get a car with room for actual hockey shit."

Parser could afford a second car. Even a third or fourth car, if he absolutely needed them to be built of ninety percent flash and engine, and only two percent people and baggage space. Swoops suspected he just liked being driven around, even if he ended up walking the last bit of distance between their buildings. It did mean Swoops was accumulating an odd amount of Parser crap at his apartment. Video games, a forgotten jacket, some hat with a furry inside that there was no reason for Parser to have in Vegas, let alone have been wearing around. It also had Team Canada Olympics branding, which probably made Parser some kind of national traitor, but Parser was also real cut up from juniors still, even ages later, so Swoops never made the accusation, even though he was tempted to every time he stumbled across the thing while rummaging through his closet or while groping around under the couch for lost keys or the remote control.

It was better not to ask about any of it. Juniors or about sub stuff. When Swoops had brought it up once, whether Parser was into anyone, it had just made everything awkward, and Parser had mumbled something about bad ideas and teammates and winning too much, and after that had gotten weird and quiet and had sucked so hard at video games for the rest of the night that it wasn't even fun to kick his ass.

"You want some flighty sub like that," Carly advised, when Parser had made himself scarce, and in a way that made Swoops pretty sure that what he meant by 'flighty' was actually 'uppity'. Flighty was a weird word for Carl to have in his vocabulary and have it not be code for something different and less nice. "You've got to show them you're not playing." 

That was also obviously code for something, but Swoops didn't want to follow the track Carly was laying far enough to figure out exactly what he meant. The general idea was pretty clear. Swoops gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "He's my friend," he said, serious. Not just making it clear where things stood with him and Parser, but letting Carly know that he wouldn't stand for any messing with Parser either. 

"Oh my god," Carly huffed, and rolled his eyes. "No one's talking about Parson, you loser."

Swoops didn't change his expression. "Good," he said.

"You gotta get out and get laid, Troy my man." Carly tossed crap into his bag, just jamming things in with more force than strictly necessary. Swoops could never tell if he was careless or just sort of perpetually low-burn angry about something. Like maybe about the way that he was an asshole way deep in the middle, and had realized there was no way for him to not be an asshole, because it was fucking foundational to his being or something. "Instead of jacking yourself watching Parson skate laps."

"Dude," Swoops said, a bit taken aback by the hard edge in it. "What'd he even do? Piss in your skates?" And, because it sat badly, "Just cause he's a sub doesn't mean anyone's jacking anything. Jesus."

"And if they were, you've just made it super unsexy," Benji added, busy preening, not even a towel around his waist. Swoops wasn't sure why he was bothering with it, when he'd just mess up his hair again pulling his shirt on. "Every time Carly talks about something, it just kills it for me," he announced to the room in general, "right here," and cupped himself, balls and everything. "You're giving me a dysfunction or something, Carl."

He was trying to be cool, rebuff Carly and make him stop talking shit about fellow Aces and talking shit in general, but it was also over the line. Swoops rolled a sock and tossed it at him, saying, "No one wants to hear about your dick dysfunction, man," which triggered a round of chirps and fine demands, that then turned into a debate about whether or not Benji was in fact over his limit for cock overshare stories. Benji tried to use the debate to rehash them all, starting from somewhere back in October and quickly worked himself into definitely being over the limit, and then into a debt of two hundred dollars and counting.

Swoops retreated to the showers before anyone could remember what the discussion had originally been about, even though there wasn't much chance of anyone going back to it, now that Carly was distracted and busy trying to keep the ribbing focused on someone other than himself. He was fucking thin skinned for such a loudmouth. All ego and nothing but bullshit and third-string hockey to back it up. It was beneath Swoops’ dignity to stay steamed about it for too long, but he still kind of was anyway, even by the time he and Parser reconvened at his car, to engage in a territory battle about the radio when Swoops caught him changing the presets.

" _One_ preset," Parser insisted and pointed to the last little button in the row. "Just this end one. What, I can't have _one_ preset?"

It was Swoops' car. He didn't say so. He did say, "Why can't you just connect to your phone? You know there's Bluetooth."

"You had it set on a talk station," Parser went on, pressing his radio point like he thought Swoops was still arguing against it, and also like he thought anything not set to a top forty channel was clearly unused.

"Fine," Swoops sighed, but changed the channel anyway. "But driver's choice still holds, so deal."

Parser's face went from victorious to indignation, and that did a lot to fix Swoops' mood. Bugging Parser was a lot more fun than being bugged _about_ Parser, and thrashing him at Madden was pretty great too, because Parser got all whiny and offended like it was anyone's fault but his own that he sucked at things that weren't actual, real, on-ice hockey.

"You're the worst," Parser groaned, after his third loss in a row, and tipped against Swoops' side, game control dangling from his fingers, like continuous defeat had sapped him of the ability to hold onto it properly. "I'm going home."

Swoops laughed. Parser's cheek was pressed against his arm, but he tilted his head up to give Swoops a disgruntled look. "Go ahead and gloat," he said. "You know I'll be back for revenge."

"Sure, Parser." He reached across his body with his free hand to pat Parser's head. "Anytime."

"Yeah? How about--" Parser leaned further into him, trapping his arm down and against his side and hit start, then followed Swoops over as he tried to make enough space to get his hand up to play. He almost managed to score before Swoops turned the tables and counter-leaned, awkwardly pinning Parser against the couch cushions while he swore and stubbornly kept trying to play virtual football, even though he probably couldn't see very well with his face smooshed into the sofa. 

"Cheater," he accused, when Swoops had gotten a good start trouncing him again. Parser was even worse at games if he had to play at an angle. He kept running his guys sideways and course correcting, so that they covered the field in wobbly zig-zags, until Swoops was laughing too hard and slid off him and then off the entire couch, to plant his ass on the floor.

"Take that, Parser."

"Fucking--I can still turn this around."

He couldn't, but Swoops let him try, even if Parser's fight was kind of half-hearted. He didn't even sit up again, but stayed where Swoops had shoved him, half-turned onto his front and doggedly mashing buttons.

"Sorry, man." Swoops grinned when the game ended, turning to pat Parser's back in consolation, leaning on him a little. "But even your dirty tricks aren't enough to take me out."

Parser dropped the control. "You should have a handicap," he grumbled, still not moving. That was rich, coming from a guy who could have bricks tied to his skates and still not be playing on a level field.

"What? Like one hand tied behind me?" His arm was still on Parser's back, just friendly, but Parser was being really still under it instead of trying to break for freedom. Swoops was half ready to defend himself in the case of a surprise attack wrestling match, but Parser just sighed and wormed into the couch a little more. "Dude?"

"I should go," Parser said, abrupt. Swoops moved to let him up.

"Why? You're just gonna come back in the morning anyway. I'm starting to think you can't _actually_ drive. If you need a lesson, Parser--"

"I don't. I mean--I didn't mean to--"

"Lose pathetically? Come on, man. You always lose pathetically." It wasn't what Parser meant. Swoops didn't know what he _did_ mean, but that much he could figure out. On screen, the game had gone back to the start menu. Swoops stretched and dragged the remote over with his foot, from where he'd bounced it vacating the couch, and shut the TV off. "Did you only _just_ realize that resistance is futile? I thought the pattern recognition would have sunk in by now."

Parser huffed, but he sounded amused again. "Shut up." He gave Swoops a shove, then pushed himself up. He looked ruffled, hair mussed, and expression a little goofy. Swoops grinned at it, but didn't comment as Parser finally went hunting around for his shit, collecting his hat and phone and finding his shoes. 

"You going out or something?" Swoops asked, because it wasn't actually like Parser to abandon him right after losing. Usually their activities would kind of dwindle off into eating and messing around on their phones before Parser decided it was time to make himself scarce.

"Gotta feed my cat." That was a lie. Swoops knew for a fact that Parser would have left her enough food to last the day, at the very least, in case he broke his leg or something and didn't get home. Even though Swoops would have gone over and fed her, in that case.

"Fine," he said. "Don't tell me."

Parser jammed his hat on, grinning. "Hey, you need your pad to yourself sometimes too, right?" He cocked his head like he thought that was funny. Swoops frowned at his dark TV screen.

"I guess," he allowed, even though it wasn't a problem or anything that Parser hung out a ton. It wasn't like he was in Swoops' way or like Swoops was reading anything into his being around. Parser didn't play with teammates, and even if his reasons for it were vague and mostly muttered, it made sense. Swoops knew enough about Parser's time in juniors and his kind of obvious involvement with Jack Zimmermann to make guesses about how Parser could have gone from starry-eyed incaution to developing strict rules about things. 

He'd been a sweet sub, before. Swoops was close enough to him in age that he'd sort of distantly known Parser before they'd ever played together, and he'd wondered how the shit Parser thought he was going to survive professional hockey, when he let every vulnerable tendency show, tucking himself close to his teammates on the bench, looking at guys he could outskate and outplay any day of the week like he'd die if someone didn't say something approving.

He'd half expected Parser to get weeded out the way a lot of subs did, by doms being dicks and hockey players being how they were, except Parser just kept slipping past them, and going around them, until his team had taken the Memorial Cup, and by then Swoops was playing pro and his team had the year's first draft pick. Parser'd become a distant thought by that point compared to his own rookie struggles, until the whole draft and Zimmermann thing became a hot story, and the Aces had their supposed hard choice made for them.

Swoops stretched his arms out across the couch, leaning against it instead of getting up and kicking his legs out. He rolled his head back to watch Parser help himself to a drink from the fridge, habitually stealing Swoops' Gatorade like a dick.

"I'm gonna start putting out a tip jar," Swoops said, as Parser twisted the cap off.

"Throw in a dance and I'll toss you a fiver." Parser grinned, unrepentant. It was probably good that he'd lost the sweet cuddly thing. Jettisoned it somewhere between Quebec and Nevada, to show up at training camp all closed-up and chippy. He'd softened up a little since, as he'd settled in, but only to the amicable brattiness that helped him inflict his musical tastes on the whole team.

"A dance'll cost you at least ten," Swoops told him, still without getting up. "You want me to pick you up tomorrow?"

Parser shrugged, stolen Gatorade held to his mouth. "Nah," he said, when he'd finished about half of it. "Driver gets to hit snooze."

"Shotgun gets to spring for breakfast?"

Parser didn't answer except to throw his Gatorade cap at Swoops, but he showed up with food anyway, and didn't comment when Swoops ate it in the car, at stop lights and in the arena players' lot, because Swoops had over-snoozed a little and had still been stumbling around blearily when Parser'd shown up, too bright and energetic to be met with anything but disgust. Swoops swatted his hand away from the music controls in the car, but that wasn't nearly enough to faze him or ding his bouncy good mood.

He was going to be a pest on the ice. Up-beat, cheerful Parser was even worse than determined, competitive Parser, in terms of him never running out of wind and making practice feel like an endurance event that the rest of them were failing. It was disgusting. Swoops couldn't really blame Combo for getting cranky and thumping Parser into the boards once or twice when he had the chance, even if it didn't do anything but encourage him.

"What d'you think _he_ got up to yesterday," Benji said, not really as a question, one gloved hand against the glass as he caught his breath. Out on the ice, Parser was skating loops around some cones, kind of hyper, kind of mellow, all at the same time, like he was so thrilled to be at practice that he couldn't bear to let it end. Swoops snorted.

"Don't ask me, man, we just carpool."

Benji laughed, still breathless enough that it came out as more of a wheezing spasm.

"Maybe he'll crash himself out and cry," Combo suggested, still sounding irritated, back turned to the ice so he wouldn't have to watch Parser be inexhaustibly cheerful. It was possible that a guy running on enthusiasm might not sense when they running out of gas. On the other hand, Swoops doubted Parser was anywhere near the end of either enthusiasm _or_ gas.

"Twenty bucks says you do first," Swoops said.

"Joke's on you. I'm crying already. It's just hidden in my bucket."

Swoops' greatest athletic gift was that he wasn't a puker, even after the pushing it really close to practice breakfast, so he was in pretty good shape to bonk Combo on the head a couple of times in teasing support. 

"Maybe if I knock him over this time," Combo mused, but didn't go to try it, either because he was too beat or because he thought it would just wind Parser up more and make him even more bouncy and unbearable. Parser had a tendency to take things like that as a dare. Mostly, Swoops thought, because dying on the ice was Parser's idea of a good time and he didn't see how anyone could enjoy breathless, face-first impact less than he did.

"Someone's going to have to catch him for you first," Swoops pointed out, because Combo didn't look like he had any more juice left than Benji did. "And it's not gonna be me, because in ten minutes I'm hitting the shower and going home. Maybe get Scraps to help."

Scraps didn't help, because Scraps was rarely a help even on the occasions when he was willing to be enlisted to side against Parser. Scraps was kind of a traitor that way, and in the way that he wouldn't even grouse about Parser kicking everything up two more notches than was strictly necessary just because he was in too good a mood to register suffering.

\-----

"Good practice," Parser told them, when someone finally put a stop to him, still energetic enough to be slapping shoulders and offering playful punches. Benji got him in a brief headlock, and tried to drag him down the tunnel that way, but Parser wiggled backwards out of it, laughing and sweaty, his hair stuck up everywhere, to pop Benji lightly in the arm. "You're gonna kill next game, man."

It was impossible to not be influenced by Parser's energy. Swoops could see Benji try to resist, but he still would up grinning and listening to Parser pitch some idea. Swoops couldn't make out if it was hockey related, or hang-out related, or what, but Benji was listening seriously enough that Swoops thought it was probably more of the first.

Swoops took the chance to commandeer the music, plugging the dangling cable into his phone while the guys were distracted from changing, and Parser was standing there talking at them with his head tilted and his pads halfway off, hands forgotten on them while he repeated his whole spiel to Scraps, who had wandered over. 

"I'm showering," Swoops yelled, over his own music. "And when I'm dressed, I'm going."

Parser looked up, and went back to getting out of his pads, then stalled out again talking to Scraps. Somehow he still managed to be mostly ready without Swoops having to wait for him. At least, not especially.

"Feel like a few ass kickings?" Swoops asked, getting his shit together and making sure he had his phone and keys. "Or is it nap time for over-excited Parsers?"

Parser grinned, like that was a compliment instead of a chirp and double-timed packing his shit up. "Maybe one round? But like, for real, one. I gotta do a thing."

Benji wasn't around to say _oh, a thing_ , but Swoops thought it on his own initiative and rolled his eyes. Parser didn't see it though, busy putting on a shoe and doing something on his phone at the same time. He was so fucking unfocused. Swoops hadn't really noticed it before, while his own attention had been on getting drills right and then on keeping up. A little bit on coming up with snappy things to say to Combo.

"Come on, man. Get it together," he said, when Parser didn't make headway on either shoe or phone because he kept stopping one to do the other. "The bunny goes around the tree--"

"Yeah, yeah."

"You can count your likes in the car."

"I'm not," Parser complained, a little whiny, like he thought it was really unfair that Swoops would think that was all it took to distract him, even though it had, in the past, been all it took to distract him, given the right circumstances. _These_ circumstances were a bit weird for it, Swoops had to admit, since it didn't involve a special event or a brand new cat or some big deal like the first time Parser had posted a selfie wearing his C. Not the first sub to make captain in the league, but not exactly with a lot of shoulders to stand on either. Parser didn't act like he was insanely proud of it, even a Stanley Cup and a close run later, so it didn't feel like Swoops could either, even though it made his heart feel huge in his chest every time Parser was introduced onto the ice with any amount of detail.

"Okay," Swoops said, when Parser had himself mostly together. "Taxi's leaving the station."

"I'm ready, I'm ready." Parser grouched. "Are you in a hurry to get beat, or something?"

Swoops was already kind of beat, and was mostly in a hurry to flop onto his couch and stuff his face with two helpings of whatever he could throw together in under five minutes. He gave Parser a little push towards the door. "I've been waiting for you to beat me for like two years. I think I've given up on it."

Parser smiled, but didn't laugh and Swoops let him have his way with the music, which might have been what he'd wanted, but they ended up in Swoops' kitchen instead of his living room, piling leftovers into the microwave and eating out of icebox containers, Parser sitting on the counter like Swoops didn't own chairs. "What're you doing tomorrow?" he asked, picking all the chicken out of what had been an attempt at stir-fry.

"Sleeping," Swoops said. "Then, I dunno. You?" He didn't usually see Parser on days off. They spent so much time together anyway that it would have been kind of dumb to expect it. "Your thing going till then?"

If Swoops hadn't already been sure that Parser was seeing someone, the way he flushed and looked awkward would have confirmed it. The guy might have closed up like a box after juniors, but there were gaps, and sometimes Swoops stepped into one and Parser would look like that--like Swoops was seeing something that was so well obscured that most of the time no one realized it was even there.

"Okay," Swoops said, laughing, but keeping it gentler than normal, mostly as a reflex because Parser had looked oddly soft, just for a second. Suddenly de-armored, before he snapped shut again like a trap. Like Swoops letting the wrong tone slide into his voice had punched some kind of security alert button. Swoops had seen him close up before, but not quite like that. Not so abrupt and obvious that he was sure Parser was doing it for real, instead of that Swoops had just misread him or imagined it. "Don't forget we have a game."

Parser tilted his head. Of course he wouldn't forget they had a game. Even caught up in a moment, Parser would probably remember they had a game, way up in the conscious-thought, front part of his brain. A little bit because they _always_ had a game, but also a little bit because Parser was like that about hockey and the team and being captain. 

"Because I've been known to forget. Like that time in California."

Parser huffed, immediately exasperated by the memory, and shoved chicken into his mouth like he could eat away the aggravation, then looked up anyway and said, "We were on a _roadie_ ," in the exact tone he'd lectured Swoops in while on that roadie. "How do you forget you have a game, after taking a plane ride specifically _to_ play a hockey game?"

"These things happen," Swoops said, even though there'd been a scheduling mix-up at the time that hadn't even been his fault. It was more fun to mess with Parser though, and it was better when he was indignant than when he was weirdly shut off. "And I got there, remember? I'm just saying."

"I'll text you," Parser decided after considering him for a minute, still chewing, expression suddenly doubtful.


	2. Smooth

Parser didn't text. Swoops hadn't really expected him to, versus the regular, casual popping in and out of shared chat groups, but he didn't hear from Parser at all until pre-game, and then they were both busy taking in last minutes directions and separated by being on opposite sides of a pep talk. Parser wasn't really great at them. The pep part was usually fine, the actual talk side a little more unreliable. Sometimes he brought it together pretty good, but tonight he was a bit flat, like he hadn't quite broken out of his media containment field and realized he was talking to them and not the public. A bit too solemn, like they were heading into something other than a regular season game. It made Swoops want to nudge him and ask what was up, but when they were on the bench together, he kept ending up on the other side of either Scraps or Carly, who were different kinds of obstructions, but equally in the way.

On the ice, Parser was his regular self, speedy and focused, playing the puck like he had it on a string, and fancy-footing his way around, all easy-breezy, as if everyone else had been put out there for the express purpose of making him look good. A lot of subs in the league made up for it by being too big to push around and too big to fuck with. Parser made up for it just by being Parser.

It made some games rougher, when dom egos got ruffled and then either Swoops or Scraps or Combo would have to show some jerk that he couldn't try to smack their captain down dirty and expect to get away with it. This game was kind of going that way, with Schooners getting hot and bothered about not being able to get in Parser's way enough to actually stop him. Swoops would have thought they'd be used to it by now.

Swoops passed Parser going over the wall in opposite directions and tried to give him a grin, but Parser was all concentrated and serious, meeting his eyes, but only twitching the corner of his mouth in response. It was weird for Parser, when he'd been so charged up their last practice. "What's up with him?" he asked Scraps, who'd been next to Parser on the bench.

Scraps looked at the scoreboard, where they were up by one, not really getting Swoops' gist, and then turned back to him like Swoops was the one who needed to get with the program.

"Never mind, man," Swoops sighed, and fiddled with his stick, clacking it against the floor between his skates as he watched Parser slide around behind the Schooner's goal and try to hook one into the corner. It was no good, but only by about a hair, and Parser cut it close enough to their goalie trying to punt it in on a second try to inspire a scuffle, that ended up looking more like a schoolyard shoving match. Sharp nudges that pulled back into puffed-up circling between Parser and some asshole who had like a whole head on him. Swoops couldn't tell what the hell Parser was thinking or why he was engaging. 

He was going to lose teeth. Swoops winced in pre-emptive sympathy and closed his eyes as much as he could without actually shutting them, watching through scrunched-down slits as gloves hit the ice. "Dude," Swoops said, not loud enough that anyone heard it, but that was fine, because it wasn't really directed at anyone anyway.

Combo was shouting encouragement. Combo was an idiot. On the other hand, it wasn't like Parser couldn't use some solid advice. His whole stance was terrible, and he was managing to be too close to his opponent and too far, at the same time. In range to be hit, too far for him to land a strike himself. Swoops felt bad for him, but also for everyone who had to witness it. "Come on, Parser," he groaned. Maybe if Parser ducked in close and grabbed him. Turned it into a grapple that a ref would break up quickish.

Parser didn't do it, squaring off like he was planning to box. Swoops closed his eyes the rest of the way. The crowd noise would tip him off to the moment Parser got socked in the face anyway, but if he shoved fingers in his ears the jumbotron or some camera was sure to zoom right in on it, and then he'd end up on some goddamn hilarity count-down reel. Top ten players having faith in their captain. Something like that.

Unsurprisingly, Parser still sucked at fighting. Swoops didn't see him get hit, but he cracked an eye open when the crowd's howling picked up and by then Parser had managed to degenerate things to a point where Carly had felt free to step in. The super fast descent to chaos was more solidly a Parser talent, and it was good to see that he hadn't lost his touch for causing brawls and pile-ups, even if he usually managed to dodge too much involvement in the first. He was also usually more of a catalyst than a direct instigator.

Carly was pummeling the Schooner in his side, keeping him pinned by his shirt which was pulled up and twisted around Carly's hand so much that Swoops couldn't see the number. It only lasted another few seconds before they were being separated, with Carly turning to mouth off at Parser, of all people, as things wound down.

He was still fuming by the end of the game, even though they'd taken it after allowing a temporary tie, storming around while Parser's eye turned a gross purple in spite of icepacks and babying. "At least it's not swelling shut," Scraps observed, optimistic. Scraps got in enough fights that his bar for _fine_ was anything less than a fractured face bone, so Swoops bumped him out of the way to add his own two cents, telling Parser,

"What the hell, man? I'm gonna make you go with my niece to her judo classes this summer. I'm pretty sure she could take you and she's like eight."

Parser grunted, face closed off and a bit grumpy, like they were bothering him. Swoops didn't really care if they were. He didn't think Parser was pissed at him, specifically speaking. He hadn't even seen Parser since after practice, and wherever he'd been, he'd driven his own stupid flashy sex car to the arena.

"Parser?"

"It's fine," Parser said, brushing off even Scrappy's perfunctory concern. Like he thought even that was over-reacting, even though Scraps was a guy who got punched in the face on the regular and called it normal, which should have given Parser some sort of consideration bracket to interpret his commentary through. 

"I guess," Scraps agreed, only mildly reluctant and still looking at the upside. "It's not even that bruised."

Swoops had to admit that was true, for hockey standards. Parser hadn't even had enough time to get really messed up. Barring some sort of super bad luck, and they might be Vegas and lucky by rights, but Swoops rapped the wooden edge of the closest stall to ward off potential jinxing just in case, reaching over Parser's head, and causing him to glance up from where he was sitting pressing a squishy blue icepack to his face.

"I guess Carly did do most of the fighting," Swoops allowed. Carly had the scraped knuckles to show for it, too. Not the messed-up face though, which made it unfair that he still wasn't going to be tapped to do press, on account of Carly being an idiot as well as an asshole.

Parser grunted again, in acknowledgement this time, but his face was hidden in the icepack again. "That warming up?" Swoops asked. "You want me find you a new one?"

"It's fine." His shoulders were hunching up.

"Well. Okay." Swoops thumped him on the shoulder and stepped away, giving Parser space before he could get for-real grumpy. "I'm going to be in the showers, then. No one can make me do press if I'm naked."

They made him do press anyway, with Scraps, who somehow always came off likeable and fun on camera, while Swoops always felt kind of like a doofus, answering in pre-trained soundbites and stumbling when he needed to improvise. Fucking Scraps just sat there like a two-hundred-something-pound cherub, smiling at cameras and letting Swoops fidget in his suit and handle all the awkward, _Haha, sure, Parson_ -s. By the time he was done, actual Parser was gone, without a damn word on if he wanted to ride together to practice or not.

"Well, I'm not waiting for him tomorrow," Swoops said, checking his phone to see if there was a message. There wasn't. "That's fair, right?"

Scraps shrugged. Carly grumbled something but didn't look up from whatever he was doing with his bag. Swoops fixed him with a cool look. "What?"

"Nothing, man. You go run around after a sub who does whatever he wants. I'm out of here."

"Who asked you to stay?" Swoops snapped.

"Fuck you, Troy. I didn't see you helping him chew what he'd bit off."

Swoops hadn't even been on the ice. "It's your fucking job, man."

"And Parson's job is to shut the fuck up and put the puck in the net, and I didn't see him doing either of those."

"We had four goals." And Parser had assists on two of them, feeding the puck where it needed to go.

"Sure."

Scraps had moved between them, but Carly didn't look like _he_ particularly wanted to chew what he was biting off either, turning his back to force the stuck zipper of his bag. "Fucking dick," Swoops grumbled at him, for the petty satisfaction of it. Or maybe just to get the petty last dig in. The satisfaction part was a bit lacking.

"Whatever, jerkoff." Carly couldn't even let him have that. Carly was such an asshole.

Scraps patted Swoops' back while he glowered after Carly's exit, waited till Swoops' fuming had calmed to a low simmer, then carefully asked, "Celebration drink? The guys are gonna be at the usual place."

Swoops considered it. "Yeah, alright. Sure." He hefted his bag. "Let's go fucking celebrate."

They weren't that far into the season, but beating the Schooners was always worth a couple rounds. Carly showed for one of them, to slap backs and chat loudly, and lean against the bar where he was conveniently positioned for Swoops to studiously ignore him. "He's harshing my mojo," he explained, when Benji gave him a questioning look. 

"Nah. You're jealous of my goal," Benji decided. Swoops snorted. "It's not my fault I'm handsome and athletic."

"Oh, geez."

"Parser not gonna make it?"

"I think he's icing his head."

Benji laughed at that, agreeable with a couple beers in him. Content and a little bit full of himself. "Not a bad game, though, huh?" 

Swoops found a glass to clink with his. "Yeah," he toasted. "Fuck the Schooners."

\-----

"You missed a good Fuck The Schooners toast," he said, when Parser actually did show up in the morning, with dark glasses and a paper takeout bag. "Is that breakfast?" Parser looked down at his bag, then at Swoops, processing like he was maybe still half asleep.

"Yes?"

"You're a lifesaver, man." He was also the one who'd eaten most of Swoops' ready-to-go leftovers. "Let me get dressed and we'll dash, 'kay? How's your face?"

"Handsome." Parser grinned as he said it, a bit more himself, and slid his butt onto a chair in Swoops' kitchen to wait for him to find un-rumpled pants and serviceable socks.

"Yeah? Keep it up and you won't be."

Parser didn't answer and Swoops couldn't see his reaction from the bedroom, but when he came back out, Parser was still just sitting there instead of helping himself to juice or sports drink or eating Swoops' cereal out of the box. "Dude?"

"It's fine," Parser said, humor gone, slipping back into the quiet grumpy mood from last night's game. At least practice was going to be low-key. Working out plays and watching tape. Some weights training. Nothing Parser could turn into an overhyped gauntlet, even if he wanted.

He didn't really seem like he wanted. He did bounce himself into their goal scorers, to give congratulatory bear hugs and apologize for missing drinks, rough housing ineffectually, but it seemed a little routine. Like Parser was just going through the motions, when usually he was stoked to show the Schooners what was what. Combo had him by the head so someone else could help steal the shades and whistle over Parser's shiner, but the struggling wasn't half as indignant as Parser usually managed. 

"That's what a jab straight to the kisser'll do for ya," Combo advised, a little late to be any use. He ruffled Parser's hair with both hands, leaving it a fluffed-up disaster, before turning him loose. "Next time keep those dukes up, Cap." 

Parser frowned, watched him demonstrate, and stood there while Combo slo-mo punched towards his face. "C'mon. Hit me, Parson."

"I'm not gonna hit you."

"Aw, it's not like it'll _hurt_." Combo laughed. "Do it. Gimme your best shot." One day someone was going to take him up on the big talk, and Swoops really hoped he'd be there to see it, but it didn't look like Parser was going to be the one to do it. He grinned enough to humor Combo, let himself be poked at, and made all the complaining _ow_ noises the guys expected to chirp him over, but didn't return fire, and ducked away at the first opportunity to go do whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. Get lectured, probably. 

Swoops changed and hit the weights, reconvened for a friendly team chat about the ways they were fuck ups and what they could do to unfuck themselves, spiced up with a side of tape, then wrapped up and loitered until Parser showed up, still sort of half-dragging his ass, but also not really. It was more like there was something missing than that he was low on charge.

He was being way too agreeable, that was one part of it. He wasn't fun enough to argue over the music with, so Swoops switched the channel over on his own, just to see if it did anything, and he was totally useless at even pretending to be trying to beat Swoops at video games. He didn't seem that interested, even after Swoops offered to lift the ban on creepily playing as oneself in NHL games, sort of not quite there in a way that was getting increasingly more familiar.

"Dude," Swoops started, then didn't go anywhere with it, because that boundary of their friendship was turning out to be pretty unclear, now that he was jogged up right against it. "Are you like, okay?"

Parser looked at him, hands stilling on the game controls, pausing just for a second in his continuous scroll though the options window.

"I mean, are you, you know--" Swoops gestured, letting go of the player two control with one hand to gesture ambiguously, not even sure how it was supposed to help clarify things. " _Okay?_ "

Parser didn't try to turn the table by asking if _he_ was okay, which was almost answer enough. Instead, he fumbled over an _uh_ , then shrugged, before unconvincingly saying, "Sure," while he kept going through the menu like his thumb was on automatic.

"Yeah?" Parser wasn't leaning towards him or looking for physical contact or anything like that, but then Parser kind of did that normally anyway, so the distance on the couch was more telling than if he had been crowding onto Swoops' end. "Cause I could call someone if you wanted. If something--you know--happened." Swoops didn't look at him, started to make a face at how awkward he sounded to himself, then thought better of it in case Parser was looking at _him_ and misread it. " Or, you know--" He gestured at his apartment in general, as unhelpful an illustration as before. "You know what I'm trying to say here, man."

"Nothing happened." Parser'd circled through the game's entire roster a few times now, Swoops figured, which should be Swoops' cue to chirp him about no one being up to his standard, or about how his gameplay would make everyone suck anyway so pick some guys already, but it didn't look like Parser was being his normal kind of picky. Swoops should have chosen some game he wouldn't try to think about. Racing or something. Maybe some slow-pace walking around adventure that Parser could spend making small talk with townspeople. Maybe Tetris. 

"I thought Carly might've said stuff," Swoops tried. Parser didn't look over from his grudging consideration of the Bruins. "After that fight."

"Who cares if Carly says stuff?"

That was a fair point, Swoops had to admit. Putting a lot of thought into Carly was kind of a waste of brain power. Still. "Okay."

"It's fine," Parser insisted. "I'm the captain. I'm not letting fucking Carl get to me."

"He gets to me," Swoops grumbled. "He's a dick."

Parser grinned, finally, and flopped across the couch, shoving his control at Swoops. "Here. You play," he said. "I'm beat."

"We watched tape," Swoops pointed out, but took over anyway, dumping Parser's choice of himself and only himself from the team selection, because it was weird to play him when he was right there, and started over.

Parser's head was half on his thigh. Swoops pretended not to notice, and it didn't seem like Parser did either. He stayed there while Swoops played a game and a half against the AI, but eventually he dragged himself back into a sitting position and said, "I gotta go."

"Parser--"

"My cat's gonna claw the curtains, man."

Parser didn't even have curtains. He had some vertical blinds set-up that had come with the apartment, installed in an attempt to make it look modern and swank except for how no one could get them to open or close smoothly, so it mostly looked like an earthquake had hit Vegas, centered only at Parser's. 

"I'm _fine_ ," Parser repeated, when Swoops didn't answer, withholding comment in favor of giving Parser a skeptical look.

"I know. But like, call or come over or anything you want, okay?" 

It was stupid. Parser did all of those things already. _Swoops_ did some of those things, in the reverse direction, basically whenever the events of him feeling like it and Parser being home happened to coincide. "Yeah," Parser said, like he didn't notice, absently agreeing. Being a good boy. Swoops frowned. 

"Seriously, man."

"I know." Parser waffled, but not in the usual way where he segued into raiding the kitchen and finding things to mess with. More in the way where he stood there shifting his weight back and forth until Swoops thought about ordering him to stay even though he had no right to do that.

"Okay," Parser said, forcing himself to shift gears before Swoops could take the chance. "Home. Cat." He found his bag and hefted it. "See you tomorrow?"

"Right," Swoops said, instead of giving him shit about learning to drive like a real adult, and instead of nagging him some more. "Don't forget my breakfast."

\-----

He didn't have to wait for breakfast, because Parser showed up at ass o'clock, somehow getting into his hallway without being buzzed up and then banging on his door because he'd never had to use the doorbell button before and didn't notice it. It made Swoops slow to respond, half-dreaming that he was at home at his parents' and waiting for someone else to get the door so he could go back to sleep, and then the weirdness sunk through and he startled awake. The thumping was insistent, but not violent, so probably not a break-in. Maybe something was wrong with a neighbor. Maybe there was some emergency. Fire. Something. Swoops grabbed a hockey stick and stumbled out to the living room, gathered himself, and reached for the doorknob, body angled to hide the stick.

"Parser?"

"Hey. Um." 

"How'd you get up here?"

"Your doorman knows me." And had probably realized Parser was a sub in trouble. He looked like hell, dressed like he'd thrown on whatever clothes he'd found on his floor. Or maybe like he'd walked out in whatever he'd already been wearing, just t-shirt and sweats and sneakers, almost like he'd been out on a run, except that it was past midnight and he was carrying a paper bag.

"Is that donuts?" Swoops asked.

"Oh. Yeah." Parser offered the bag. "Breakfast place wasn't open yet. I just--Sorry it's late. You said I could--?"

He didn't look like he was going to move on his own, so Swoops tugged him in and shut the door behind him. "What happened to your phone, man?"

"I don't--" Parser patted himself down. "I didn't bring it?"

Obviously. "Why didn't you call? I could have come there."

"It's the middle of the night."

Parser's offended tone almost made Swoops laugh, but he bit it back and steered Parser further into the apartment. "I know. It's fine. You're the one half in subdrop. You can't wander around Las Vegas like this, man."

"I don't think that's it," Parser said. "It's just--I just felt weird. You said I could come over."

"Yeah. I said that. It's fine."

"What's with the stick?"

Swoops tossed it, meaning for it to fall against the wall, but it bounced off and hit the floor with a clatter, making Parser twitch at the noise, tensing up, then consciously untensing, then tensing up again. Swoops pushed him towards the kitchen, depositing the donuts on the counter while keeping the other on Parser's back. Food probably wouldn't help. Parser had eaten a few times since he'd started acting weird, and he'd probably slept, so he wasn't likely to be fine in the morning either. 

Swoops yanked the fridge open and poured them both orange juice anyway, then rifled quick through his kitchen for something easy to fix, just in case. Eggs, maybe. And he'd made a shopping run after Parser had gone, so he had a good stock of stuff to throw together if he needed something more serious. And there was delivery, if that failed.

"Here, sit down and drink this," he said, holding one of the glasses out towards Parser, then, when he didn't take it, pressed the cold glass against the side of his face to get his attention. Parser jumped at it, startled like he hadn't been watching Swoops moving the whole time, and twitched away. 

"I don't have that fiver." 

It took Swoops a second to place the comment, but then he huffed and donked the base of the glass against Parser's head, careful not to spill.

"Just fucking drink it, man."

Parser frowned, but he planted his ass on a kitchen stool and followed instruction. It wasn't going to do anything. Or not anything much. _Maybe_ it would perk Parser up a little if he had some sugar in him, but that was the most Swoops was really expecting. He unrolled the top of the bag to peer into it, then fished out a donut and held that out as soon as Parser'd put the glass down.

"Cheers," Swoops said, pulling another out for himself, and lifted it in a toast. "Eat, Parser."

"Those were for you," Parser complained, but did what he was told. Swoops wasn't sure he could risk a _good_ , but he punched Parser in the arm as an acceptable substitute, just lightly. Only hard enough for Parser to pull a face over it and make a complaining noise around his mouthful of donut, which meant Swoops could give him a friendly head-ruffle, disguised like he was trying to be annoying.

That got him another complaint, but also Parser leaning to push into his hand, then suddenly pull back to blink at him, round-eyed and looking surprised. Swoops grinned and tried to look reassuring.

"You okay, man?"

Parser swallowed and nodded, then took another bite of donut. Still obedient, even though he was doing it in kind of unattractive chomps, like he was making a point. Not a snotty point, but just like he wanted Swoops to notice that he was doing what he'd been told. He looked like a hamster, chewing doggedly and with chunks of donut tucked into his cheek.

"Alright," Swoops said, patting his shoulder like a pal. "Take it easy. If you choke to death we'll have a whole different problem." It sat badly. He couldn't not praise a sub who was looking at him the way Parser was, like he was waiting for something and Swoops was disappointing him, his cocky bit of attitude nowhere in sight. He looked serious and sweet and transparent, and it turned out Parser hadn't dumped that after all, or shut it up in whatever box he'd shoved his juniors uniform into, just covered it up with a lot flash and misdirection.

"You're doing a good job," Swoops said, like a coach this time. He wasn't usually bad at being a dom and saying dom stuff. He was usually fine, even good, and now that Parser needed him to show some reliability or whatever, he was fumbling like an idiot. _Keep it up_ , was the next part of that coach speech. Swoops swallowed juice to keep it in, then crammed donut into his mouth after, for good measure.

"Help me out here," he said, when he'd had a moment to think and was still just coming up with half-formed questions and a growing fear of getting things too wrong to come back from. He shoved the remaining half of his donut back in the bag, licked sugar off his fingers, then brushed them off against his thigh. Sort of low-key gross. "Not that I'm questioning midnight snack delivery, but what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," Parser said, sounding more confused than evasive. "Nothing happened. Everything should be fine."

 _Should be_. Swoops tried to wait that out, but Parser just kept frowning, looking grumpy now that he wasn't coming up with the answers Swoops wanted.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I just--Can I--?" Parser didn't finish the question, but just leaned closer, tipping hesitantly towards Swoops until he stepped in and Parser could bump his head against Swoops' chest, to let it slowly come to rest against his sternum.

"Hey," Swoops said, voice low, bringing a hand up to rest on Parser's back and patting him carefully. "You're not hurt, are you? Is this cause you got punched in the face?" Parser had been weird before that. Swoops was pretty sure that Parser being weird had been at least a bit behind his decision to get into the fight in the first place, even if the logic of it was sort of elusive.

"Is anyone going to let that go?" Parser grouched, muffled, but he didn't move other than to wrap his arms around Swoops' hips, holding on, tense from his shoulders all the way down his back. 

"Probably not soon," Swoops said. "I've seen the video six times just on twitter and I wasn't even looking for it." His hand was on Parser's neck, then in his hair, gently combing through it, rubbing the back of his head with his fingertips. "Come on, Parser. You gotta give me something to work with."

"Nothing--"

"Happened. I know. Where were you while nothing was happening?"

Parser sighed and tried to worm closer.

"Kent." 

It felt like crossing a line, firming his voice up like that. He knew Parser would respond to it, especially now, when he was fucked up enough to decide wandering over in the middle of the night was a great idea. Or fucked up enough to decide he needed Swoops more than he needed to keep up his not going down with hockey players and-or teammates rule. Swoops had never been that clear on the specifics. It hadn't seemed like something they needed to talk about, since Parser'd been at least clear enough that Swoops got he wasn't interested. 

"At least tell me what you need, or I'm gonna be stuck guessing, and I can confidently say that ninety, ninety-five percent, I am going to mess that shit up." He made that gentler. Not gentle enough that Parser could ignore that it was an order, but enough to be friendly. Enough that it wasn't an _order_ order. 

"I don't know," Parser said, quick enough that Swoops was sure he was trying to give a real answer. "Can we just--sit?" He swallowed. Swoops kept patting him, waiting for more, while Parser frowned at his kitchen floor like he was suddenly perplexed by the concept of tile. "I mean," Parser went, on, after a bit. "Maybe I could--Could I kneel for you? Just for a bit. I know I got you up."

It was fine that Parser had gotten him up. They had practice later but being miserable for a few hours and maybe having to explain why to someone was way preferable to the idea of Parser knocking around his place alone, trying to pull himself out of what looked like at least partial subdrop. 

That seemed to be what Parser had been doing for a few days now, if Swoops was successfully scrubbing back in his mental timeline, trying to set dates to the events of Parser's weirdness. "You played with someone, huh?" Swoops guessed, even though it wasn't exactly a hard guess. "Like a few days ago?"

Parser made a humming sound that wasn't denial but wasn't an answer either. "It was fine," Parser insisted, still not really explaining. 

"Yeah?" Swoops pitched that so it came out friendly, but in the next second it occurred to Parser that inviting himself over in the middle of the night to tell a dom about another dom was kind of weird, even for him. He glanced up and licked his lip, awkward in a way he never was with Swoops, and shifted his weight a little uneasily.

"Come on. Let's go sit, okay?"

It made Parser relax, like he'd been let off the hook. Swoops didn't know how he played, but it was looking like whatever he was into was maybe not Swoops' style. Like it was maybe stricter or rougher or whatever, if it made Parser act like he was going to be in trouble for being a bit of a space cadet, even in the middle of subdrop.

Or maybe Parser just played with assholes. The parts of his track record that Swoops knew weren't exactly a ringing endorsement of his selection skills.

Steering Parser to the living room felt odd. Usually they just kind of argued or rough housed their way there on automatic, moving out of habit and routine. Now Parser waited for cues, trailing in a way that made it clear he was letting Swoops take the lead on purpose.

"Here." Swoops pulled a cushion off the couch to toss to the floor, casual and not nervous. It was a bit thick, but fluffy enough that Parser would probably sink right in and end up at an okay height. "Get comfy."

"Where are you--?"

"I'm right here, pal." Parser's eye looked like shit. Smudgy and mottled the way bruises got after a bit, smearing over his cheekbone and making his face look extra shadowed as he frowned at the cushion. No wonder the doorman had fucking let him in.

"You're gonna stay, right?" Parser asked, unusually antsy. Swoops never really saw him like that. It wasn't even the pre-game jitter sort of hype, but something more uncertain.

"Yeah, man. Of course I'm staying." He gave Parser a little nudge, but he didn't move until Swoops took the leap and told him, "Knees, Parser," and then he folded, easy like they weren't falling over a cliff. When Swoops sat, he skootched over so he could put his head on Swoops' knee, leaning the good side of his face there just enough that he was making contact and resting some weight, not enough he couldn't react if Swoops moved. 

"There you go," Swoops said. "See? We're okay."


	3. That guy's got no redeeming qualities

Parser took a good hour to really relax, and after about twenty more minutes Swoops decided it was probably okay to put a hand on his head, and then to play with his hair a bit. A little tug made Parser blink an eye open, but it slid shut again when Swoops went back to just playing his fingers through Parser's hair and against his scalp. He crunched his face up a little in expectation when Swoops touched his face but leaned further into him when Swoops ran his thumb over the leading edge of the bruise-smudge, pressing his thumb in, gentle enough not to hurt. Just smoothing over it like he thought it might wipe away, be soothed back to normal under the pad of his thumb. If he pressed a little harder, Parser would hold his breath until that stroke ended, then sigh when the next one was light again.

"You're supposed to come back, Parser," Swoops told him, after a bit, but with the volume down, not like he really wanted Parser to do anything different than what he already was. He was so chilled and comfortable looking, and Swoops would let his whole leg lose circulation and go numb before he'd disturb that.

Also because it was completely unclear what their friendship would look like in the morning, when Parser's brain was online enough to really think about what they were doing and how he really felt about Swoops carefully touching his dumb face.

"We should sleep," Swoops suggested, when Parser stopped reacting, body slack like he was halfway there already. Even with the cushion under him, it was a long time to be on his knees, and on top of that, Swoops couldn't really vouch for it as an acceptable kneeling pad. It was entirely possible that the thick softness of it was tilting Parser's leg in an uncomfortable way or misaligning his back or something. He tugged Parser's hair a bit harder, then bounced his knee a little. Just enough to jiggle Parser's head. "Can you move?"

"Mm."

"Parser."

"'Kay." 

He didn't budge. Swoops didn't really want to budge either, but he also didn't want to face the coaching staff on under three hours of sleep. "Sorry, man. You have to." And, because Parser was maybe dumb enough to think it, "I don't mean go home. We can swing by tomorrow and grab your stuff on the way." He gave Parser another nudge. "Come on."

Parser resisted the same way his cat did, slumping like a dead weight so that he seemed twice as heavy than he actually was. His shoulder felt like rubber when Swoops tried to pull him up by the arm, like the whole limb would stretch like a gummy worm if he didn't let up. "Parser," Swoops complained. He sounded kind of whiny. If Parser was listening, he was probably starting to think that Swoops was a crappy sort of dom. No authority or coolness or anything. "That's foul play, buddy."

Parser didn't move, or un-become dead weight, but his ribs shuddered a little in a suppressed laugh and his breath puffed hot against Swoops' stomach.

"Dick," Swoops accused, gentle, trying to push Parser back enough to get a look at his face, then settled on shoving his hair back instead, a little firmer than he'd been earlier. It was a relief that Parser was back enough to want to mess with him. "I'm going to puke on the ice if I don't get any shuteye, and you can bet Combo will have things to say about it if I do."

As a dom, Swoops was a smooth dude. It was like, his top quality.

"We can do stuff tomorrow if you still want to," he added, bargaining. Maybe bribing. Maybe hopeful. Decisiveness was super attractive in a dominant. Being around Parser always turned him into a bit of an idiot, but usually in a fun way that he didn't think about too much. It was different now, with one of Parser's arms snaked around his waist while Swoops tried to talk him into bed. 

To sleep, so they could then play hopefully half-decent hockey, but still.

"I'm serious, Parser," Swoops tried, and gave him a shake before tugging on his shirt, trying to pull him up by the back of it. "Up."

Parser laughed again. A low, dumbass giggle that made him sound a little drunk. Swoops had heard him like that after really great games. Also the day he'd come to practice all giddy and weird. "I swear to god if you're a lunatic tomorrow, I'm going to put you over my knee."

Parser looked at him, finally serious, the bruise distorting the shadows on his face.

"That just came out," Swoops said. "I'm sleep deprived. Also, I'll totally do it." Then, just in case. "That's not a dare."

"Yeah," Parser agreed, pushing back to sit straight again. Making a little distance. "Sorry, man."

"It's fine. It's just--you know how Combo's jealous of the breakfast burritos before practice thing. If I get sick, he'll never let it go and then it'll be Benji nutsack stories till the end of the season."

"Right. I mean, I don't know this specific bet, but--"

Swoops ruffled his hair, and that made Parser stop and laugh again, a little sleepier this time. "I'll defend you," he finished. "We'll double fines."

"Not that I don't appreciate the nepotism, but let's just go to bed, huh?" He curled his fingers, tugging Parser's hair in the fist it formed, then used the grip to gently bobble his head. Just a bit, and because Parser was letting him. 

"Yeah."

"You go, I'll be there in three." Because he wanted to double check the door, use the can, and turn off the lights in the kitchen. Maybe pick up the hockey stick he'd dropped, in case one of them tripped over it in the morning. "Bedroom's that way."

Parser knew where the bedroom was. It was just that instruction meant he wouldn't decide to veer off to the office-slash-extra storage-slash-guestroom-slash-home gym room instead, and then decide to spend practice offering opinions on Swoops' interior decoration skills on top of acting like a psycho with rockets for skates.

"When I get there," Swoops decided, "you better be under the blanket with your damn eyes closed."

Parser smiled. "Yeah?"

"Don't argue with me. I'm only half conscious." He gave Parser's hair another little tug, then let go and nudged him with a leg. "Now get to it."

Parser smiled at him again, then got, pushing himself up a bit stiffly, then made a little show of replacing the couch cushion, pushing in the corners and everything, to make it look fluffy and semi-neat before he stole a side-ways glance at Swoops, like that was some kind of major job Swoops wouldn't have been fine leaving until the next day or until the cushion got in his way and annoyed him, whichever came last.

He gave Parser a thumbs-up, then turned it into a _move it_ gesture, jerking the same thumb towards the bedroom. Once he heard Parser shifting around on the bed, he got up, shut off the kitchen, and finished the remaining half of his donut as he checked everything else, then rinsed his mouth in the half-bath sink, fiddled with shit to give Parser time to make himself comfortable, then headed back, pausing for a second in the bedroom doorway to scope things out.

Parser was unfairly over the midway line of the bed. Not enough that Swoops could accuse of him being a hog, but it wasn't like he was making two-hockey-players bed space either. He'd also followed Swoops' directions to the letter, tucked under the comforter up to his ears. The way his shoulders tensed at the sound of the door meant he was awake, but when Swoops leaned over to check, he had his eyes scrunched closed in determined obedience.

"Great," Swoops told him, and flopped back to squirm his own way under the covers, before he tried to make the most of the space Parser had left him and ended up kind of spooned up against him by accidental default. Trying to shove Parser over ended up involving what turned out to be awkwardly hip-thrusty jostling, so Swoops gave up and dropped an arm over him under the covers, yawning into the back of his head. "Stay in bed if you can't sleep. You can get up if you need to go, or want a drink or something, but then come back. You can open your eyes if you need to. For that. Walking and stuff. Obviously."

Parser's breath stuttered, vibration shivering under Swoops' arm.

"No laughing."

It was a mumble. Swoops was fading and if Parser was a little goofy, he still seemed happy to lie still and maybe just bonk his heel into Swoops' shin a couple of times while he settled in. It was a weird thing to be so aware of, Parser's bare foot against his leg. The slight distance between them was filling with body heat. Too warm for the room, and Swoops was sure one of them was going to get too hot soon and kick the covers off, but at the moment he was sleepy and comfortable and Parser was breathing evenly, making a funny little mutter-whimper noise every few breaths that could as easily be the start of a dream as the start of a cold. Maybe Swoops'd have to be dropped from a game a little down the line because of having spent the night breathing Parser's germs. That was still better than Parser getting lost somewhere, wandering around because he had doms who'd put him down but apparently not ones he could call for help or who'd check up on him after to make sure things were cool. And apparently not ones he saw again for days after they played, or if he did, not ones who noticed when things were off.

Falling asleep thinking about it made Swoops wake up grumpy. Between that and the sleep deprivation headache, he grunted his way through breakfast, while Parser fixed them eggs and tried to look less bouncy than he obviously was. Unfairly energized by what had essentially been an extended nap.

It didn't seem like Parser'd been in as great a mood before that, though, because his place was a mess when they swung by to grab his stuff. Still cat-safe, but Parser also hadn't unpacked his bag after the game, so it took him a couple of minutes to aerate and then to get a non-funky change of clothes together while his cat followed them around chirping and purring and trying to rub her cheek on their shins.

"Hey, buddy," Swoops told her, getting down so he could scratch under her chin while Parser was in his room scrounging for Underarmor or socks. "Did you miss me?" They'd been hanging at his place instead of Parser's lately. That had made it easy to miss Parser's low-grade chaos. Dishes left in the sink and glasses abandoned on the coffee table and counters. Not a disaster level of letting things go, but maybe an under-the-weather level. "I thought you were looking after things over here, dumbass. Do some laundry, at least. Or run the dishwasher, like one time. You live here for free, man."

He looked up to see Parser watching him from across the living room, standing in the doorway of the little hall he kept his washer-drier in, a hoodie pulled halfway up his arms but not over his head yet.

"We're gonna be late," Swoops warned, getting up and making out like he hadn't just been caught lecturing Parser's cat. Parser didn't say anything about it, though. Just clicked back into motion, tugging the sweater over his head quickly and jamming his feet back into his shoes, before he looked around for his bag and lifted it to his shoulder.

"Ready." Parser did a little hands-out gesture as he said it, inviting inspection that Swoops bypassed in favor of hustling him towards the door, while Parser called, "Bye, Kit," over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

Swoops shoved him into the hall, then rattled the door to make sure it had locked, before giving Parser another little push, to get him moving towards the elevators and back to the car, where Swoops let him expand his radio preset takeover to the next button. Kind of like a sucker, even though Parser seemed more like he was restless and in a mood to fiddle than like he was purposely trying to annex more than his fair share of the car.

He'd had even less sleep than Swoops. It didn't make sense for him to still be raring to go, but after some up-beat dressing room banter, warm-up laps, and some drills that Swoops gritted his teeth through while Parser sailed, he had to admit that he was going to suffer alone.

"At least someone's having a good time," Combo said while they took a breather, obviously also having a good time. Swoops didn't bother responding. "Or, maybe someone had too much of a good time last night, eh?" It was harder to ignore the wink and elbow nudge. "Seriously, Troy, you look like shit. I can't believe you didn't send around an invite."

"I didn't go anywhere."

"Yeah?" Combo was grinning, pretend-leaning on his stick in a douchey way that he clearly thought was referencing something Swoops was meant to be picking up on.

"Yeah. I just didn't sleep that great."

"I bet."

"If you feel left out, you can come over next time and like, make me tea and tuck me in." The ice felt bright. Swoops squinted out at it, absently watching one of the rookies get a talking to about showing up for the team and not doing dumb rookie shit. That could be him, minus the rookie excuse, if he let his ass drag too much, and if Coach read it the same way Combo had.

"I could do that," Combo said, straightening up then nonsensically miming a golf putt with his stick. "I could sing to you too, if you promise to stop fucking me up out there."

Swoops grinned. It felt bleary. "See? That's all I wanted." 

A whistle went off. Combo thumped him in the arm. 

"Next go, man," Swoops promised. "Just gotta--" He gestured vaguely, then let Combo thump him again, a little more encouragingly this time, and skated after him, out to where the others were lining back up for another round. At least by the next water break, Parser had developed the decency to start looking a little ragged himself, even though he still grinned at Swoops as he squirted water over his own head and down his neck, then flicked his tongue out at a random drop. The bruise was covering up the shadow under his one eye, and making the other look not as stark, but he was breathing harder than was Parser-normal for any drill not conducted at a dead sprint.

"Almost done," Swoops told him, giving him a stupid thumbs-up that he regretted right away. Parser was doing better than he was. He didn't really have a leg to stand on, to be telling Parser _good job_ from.

Parser beamed back at him anyway, grin widening right before he ducked his head and scrubbed water from his hair, then he wiped his face on his sleeve and started getting his helmet and gloves back on. His cheeks were pink from exertion, his cowlick turned jauntily upward until Parser jammed his bucket down over it. "Yeah," he said, and didn't segue into a good captain encouragement routine, even though Swoops was sure he looked like a great target for one. Letting Swoops be the one to say supportive shit and act approving like Parser wasn't six times the hockey player he was and had been waiting his whole life to hear Swoops tell him _nice one, man_.

Swoops patted his back anyway as he got back on the ice, and smiled as Parser skated into him, pressed tightly to his side for maybe a second before he broke away and turned. Skating backwards and saying, "Twenty minutes, Swoops," with his head tilted to one side, playful and apologetic at the same time, but also waiting for Swoops to nod agreement before he took off to go hassle their goalie.

\-----

Swoops had a good taking-things-seriously record and the benefit of the doubt, so instead of a lecture he got a sympathetic check-in from one of the trainers while he was busy getting dressed. It was probably obvious he was hedging, but whatever was up with Parser didn't need to be in the official team crosshairs. It was bad enough that Combo was zeroing in, attracted by who knew what. 

The same kind of vibe that was dragging Carly over, maybe. Not sub-in-distress, because Parser was still his easy going, chipper self, but sub-kinda-softened-up maybe. Parser only looked tired because Swoops was looking for it, but it wasn't unsuspicious that he also let Scraps put something horrible and electronic on. A pulsing rhythm that Swoops could swear he felt in his chest when Scraps cranked it.

At least it drowned out whatever Carly might be about to say. He had that look on his face, like he was angry and wanted to say something stupid to someone. Swoops dragged a shirt over his head to avoid looking at him, then pretended to straighten his hair as he watched Parser engage, doing his dutiful captain shtick and tilting his head up to try to hear Carly better.

Swoops grabbed for his pants and started to climb into them. Definitely not thinking about Carly taking the opportunity to loom over Parser. Parser could handle himself, or he wouldn't be a captain with two Stanley cups to his name.

"Are you moving or what?" Swoops yelled anyway, over the music, then walked over and crabbily thumbed the volume down so he could snap, "Parser," into a more normal decibel of locker room noise.

"Yeah," Parser agreed, ducking away from Carly to get back to dressing. "Sorry."

That brought the room to a halt. Not that Parser said it, but his tone. Benji raised an eyebrow, aiming it at Swoops, but Swoops refused to make eye contact. Carly was just an asshole. Everyone knew Carly was an asshole. 

"Are you answering to him?" Carly asked, not really as confused as he was pretending. "I thought you were the captain here?"

"I'm the ride," Swoops pointed out, at the same time that Benji said, "And here I thought practice was over."

"Maybe Carl doesn't want to go home," Swoops offered. "Where he has to hang out with his own attitude."

Swoops wasn't helping. He was tired and cranky and a bit nauseous from practicing on too little sleep, and Parser was being slower than usual. Not getting distracted by the guys this time, but just taking forever to complete tasks.

"Fuck off, Troy," Carly snapped. "Just because--"

"Just because _what_?" Swoops snapped back, even though he had nothing to defend.

"Just 'cause you got Parser taking orders--"

Swoops didn't even get to decide whether to punch him, because Combo got there first despite having also been lured over by Parser looking like he needed help finding his socks and then maybe his own feet.

Upbeat Parser was fading fast, turning back into the confused, unfocused kind of Parser who thought it was a good idea to bring over donuts in the middle of the night. Scrappy was noticing too, ignoring Combo's attempts to shove Carly out of the locker room in his birthday suit to come over and frown at them.

"Gassed it up and left it on the ice, huh?" he asked Parser. "And just for practice."

"See if you can gas him up and get him to the car, would you?" Swoops asked, not really annoyed anymore, but just going with it now that he'd started because he couldn't get the brakes on. Carly was under his skin, tanking his already sour mood, but it wasn't like that was Parser's fault.

"Sorry," Parser said, again, and got back into motion, cramming things into his bag, sloppier than usual, then had to half unpack again to get his clothes out. 

Scrappy was giving him a weird look. Swoops sighed, blowing the breath out hard, trying to exhale his shortened temper along with it. "It's fine," he said, not actually sounding entirely fine. Scraps was starting to look a little judgmental. Swoops tried to ignore him. "I didn't mean--I just need to eat like a whole plate of carbs or something." 

Parser smiled at that, in a distracted, concentrating-on-pulling-his-pants-on way, head tilted down so that Swoops barely saw his expression change. It was nice of Parser to humor him. To let him off the hook so easy for being an asshole. Swoops wouldn't have let it go half as quick, probably. 

He couldn't even say something nice to make up for it, because Combo had let Carly back into the locker room and the last thing Swoops wanted was to provide him with more chances to offer commentary. He did pick up Parser's bag and hook it onto his shoulder when Parser finally got his feet into his sneakers and stood up, but it was a crappy substitute for having made Parser apologize to him twice in front of the guys and just for being a bit more than his regular amount of pokey. 

"Look, man," Swoops said, when they were finally in the car, punching radio preset buttons and not looking at Parser as the speakers blared rock, then pop, then rock again, then some commercial for life insurance. "You don't have to cater to me being a dickhead, or anything."

Parser frowned, aiming it at where Swoops was still restlessly punching radio buttons. Just going up and down the row in transparent, crappy misdirection. Not a quality cover for his awkwardness at all.

"Or say you're sorry for stuff." _Where the team can hear_ , went unsaid. He sounded like he was negotiating. Like Parser had in some way opened the door for him to try to hash out terms, just because he'd come over the way Swoops had said he should. Even without glancing up, Swoops could tell Parser had shifted to look at him. "You know how Carly'll get about it," he mumbled, defensive and still aiming it downwards.

"Carly's an idiot," Parser said.

"Yeah."

"Swoops--"

Swoops switched back to pop. " _I'm_ sorry, okay?"

"I'm the one who woke you up." He had that stubborn tone in his voice, like when he was insisting the team was great even when they'd just suffered a miserable loss. Swoops snorted.

"I don't need a pep talk, Parser."

"And then I _kept_ you up. So if you wanna be a grouch, it's, you know. Cool."

Swoops took his hand off the radio. "I'm not a grouch."

Parser was grinning at him. Not his scored-a-point victory grin, but a smaller, pleased look. Like he was happy to have Swoops' direct attention. Swoops smiled back.

"So. Your place?" he asked. "Or what?"

Parser frowned, like he was thinking it over. "I gotta see Kit," he decided, apologetic like he thought Swoops wanted him to decide something else. Swoops started the car.

He'd had the plan to just drop Parser off, make sure everything was okay and then get out of his hair, but Parser looked kind of lost in his disorganized apartment. All the _captain_ he'd pulled around him for practice kind of falling off somewhere between Swoops' car and his living room. Swoops couldn't fucking leave him. Not without some guarantee that whatever had happened last night wouldn't happen again.

He couldn't survive another practice on that little sleep, for one.

And two, Parser might call someone else, and that someone else might not care as much as Swoops did about Parser wandering around Las Vegas at night and in a bad headspace. Whoever Parser had been playing with was obviously irresponsible as shit.

"Mind if I hang?" Swoops asked, even though he always hung around at Parser's. It was stupid, and Parser looked up from where he was crouched down on a rug scratching the cat's ears to give Swoops a surprised look.

"Uh. Sure?" he said, obviously having assumed Swoops just would, and taken off guard by the return to formality. Like they were newly teammates again and still circling around friendship. Swoops dumped his shit in a messy pile to make up for it, then flopped onto the couch.

"I had a dream once where this sofa ate me," he said, melting into a slouch. "I died happy."

Parser laughed. Low, a little distant sounding, even if he hadn't moved away. Swoops lifted his head, but Parser was still busy with the cat, petting her ears and stroking down her back while she paced around in front of him, pressing herself against his legs and rubbing her cheek on his knee.

"How are you not crashing?" Swoops asked, dropping his head back onto the soft leather. "Kit's fine, man."

"I didn't check the door."

Swoops didn't lift his head this time, just rolled it so he could watch Parser tip onto his butt out of the corner of his eye.

"Last night. I could've let her out."

"She doesn't know how to work an elevator."

Parser made an annoyed sound. A little snort like he was offended Swoops wasn't taking his cat anxieties seriously, even if Kit would just have ended up prowling around the hall until Parser got home, or until someone found her and then kept her until Parser got home. It wasn't like Parser lived in some shitty catnap building.

Kit circled, complaining and chirping by turns, nosing at Parser, who'd stopped patting her to lean back on his arms, turned away enough that Swoops couldn't see his face. He was thinking, though. He had that gears-grinding-away set to his shoulders.

"Don't hurt yourself."

He didn't get an answer.

"Parser?"

Parser got up, unfolding all silent and slow. Kinda careful, but not like he was hurt or like his leg was asleep. Swoops expected him to come annex part of the couch and started preparing to shift his own ass to make room, but Parser went to his knees instead, right next to Swoops' outstretched legs.

"Hey," Swoops said, like a champ. A real brain. It was a good thing he was decent at hockey, really. Going fast and smacking pucks and only sometimes talking, if no one else was available and management made him.

Parser was good at talking, usually. Real smooth at charming the cameras and exuding serious business at the same time. He kind of had that look now, with the bright eyes and the sharp focus. Intense like he was about to tell Swoops to knuckle down and get his game on.

 _Are you mad?_ Swoops started to say, just in his brain, hoping the words would travel to his mouth coherently. Maybe form themselves up into something more useful on their way down, like, _I didn't mean to make things weird last night or anything_ , or, _I know you said no playing with teammates, but it was kind of a situation, man_ , but before he could, Parser ducked his head, then rethought it and leaned forward with his elbows on the couch cushion, right next to Swoops.

"I know practice was shit," he said, in a very understanding tone of voice. Swoops sighed. Parser's hair was all weird. Sticking up more than usual, up at the front, and fluffy at the back, where it still only partway dry after showering.

"Yeah," Swoops agreed, not touching him.

"And I'm the captain and stuff."

"Yeah. All that stuff."

Parser paused to grin at him, tilting his head so that he was looking sideways up at Swoops. Maybe he thought that was a cute move. Maybe an avoiding confrontation one. That wasn't usually Parser's speed. Parser was usually more of a head-on, contrary kind of dude.

Unless it was a sub thing. Maybe Parser was trying a sub thing.

"I'm the captain," Parser repeated, frowning, that dumb look on his face that he got when he was really concentrating.

Swoops didn't roll his eyes, but only because Parser looked like he was taking things so seriously. "If I cared about you being captain, I'd let you win more Call of Duty."

Parser's frown flattened, but it made him look more unhappy instead of less, and he sort of wilted against the couch.

"It was a situation," Swoops said, the words finally making it to his mouth and out. "It's fine, Parser. It's not like you bossed me into it." And Parser was the one who'd laid down the _no teammates_ rule, even before he was wearing the C. "Anyway, you got donuts, so we're even."

"Yeah." 

Swoops nudged him with his leg. Just to get Parser to stop being weird. It didn't take. Parser twitched the corner of his mouth, like he was trying to form a smile, but it dissolved back into the serious look. Like Parser wasn't happy with any of the conclusions he was coming up with for whatever train of thought it was he was stuck on.

"Seriously," Swoops insisted. "If it's not a problem for you, it's not for me either. You know I'd like, do whatever, right? Parser?"

"Yeah," Parser agreed again, sounding totally down in the fucking dumps about it. "Me too." His chin was on the couch cushion, and Swoops could see his eyebrows move as he glanced up and over, but couldn't see enough of his face to read his expression. That dumb bit of hair at the front of his head was in the way, and the angle was bad. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, man," Swoops said, not touching. "But is there someone I should call for you?" Because Parser was dropping in some really weird way. A sustained, slow burn descent that Swoops had zero experience with.

Parser made a noncommittal kind of grunting sound. "It's okay," he said, without moving. With his chin still resting on the cushion, it came out as an unclear mumble.

"I don't know, pal." Swoops reached over, hesitated, then carefully set his fingers against the back of Parser's neck. The cool of them made Parser jump instead of settle, and Swoops lifted them away again. "You don't look that okay to me." He scrubbed his hands against his leg to warm them up, then moved to try again, but before he could, Parser pushed up, straightening and ending up out of easy reach.

"It's fine," Parser repeated, then tried a dumb, crappy smile. "I'll--you know. Suck it up. Get it together. Kick your ass at NBA."

"Yeah. Great."

Parser beamed, but it only lasted for second or two before it got kind of uncertain. He put his hand on the couch, near where his chin had been, and it was too bad Parser's couch was leather because it looked like he needed a distraction. Some fluff to pick off or something. Maybe a fidget cube. 

"Practice was--I did what you said, right?"

"Huh?"

Parser poked at a seam along an edge of the couch, then put his hand on his thigh. He was sitting pretty tidy, Swoops noticed. It was sweet, until Parser scrunched up his face like he did when he had to say things he didn't want to. "You said you'd--" he trailed off, finishing in a shrug.

"Puke on the ice," Swoops supplied, and that made Parser rally enough to look irritated.

"No. The other thing."

Heat rushed Swoops' face. "Oh." He scratched at the back of his head. "Um."

"But you don't have to," Parser added quickly. "Now."

Because Parser'd behaved himself. Been chill on the ice, under threat of spanking. Swoops' face still felt hot. "Sorry, man. You know my filter sucks when I'm beat. Remember that time I almost cried on Scrappy?"

"I know," Parser said, tone serious, undeterred even by the memory of Swoops making an idiot of himself.

"I don't, like--I mean." Swoops scrubbed a hand over his face. "I need a serious nap, man. You're fine, though. Practice was great."

"Okay," Parser said, not actually sounding happy or relieved.

"Dude--"

"You're staying, though, right? Here?"

"Yup. Sorry, man. I'm not awake enough to drive. Or walk." Or do anything but melt into Parser's fantastic sofa. "You wanna climb up here?"

Parser frowned. Swoops tried, "Come on. Up, Parser." 

Parser shifted his ass from the floor to the couch in a burst of movement, scrambling to settle himself next to Swoops like he'd been waiting the whole time for an invitation to sit on his own furniture.

"Seriously, though," Swoops said, moving his arm, totally not trying to cue Parser to scoot close. "Is there someone you like, _call_?"

Parser didn't answer.

"I mean, outside of whoever it was you called last time."

Still nothing.

"Okay," Swoops said. "Gotcha. But for the record, that guy's off your list, right?"

"Yeah." Parser shifted over, close enough to touch, but barely. Like they were sitting on the bench. "Sure."

It wasn't really Swoops' place to tell Parser who to play or not play with. "That's a deal, Parser," he said anyway. "I'm holding you to it."

Parser nodded, still weirdly serious, but at least he relaxed and leaned over a little more. Enough to be warm against Swoops' side, and after that it was a lot easier to feel okay about bugging him until he moved over enough that Swoops had room to swing his legs onto the couch. He didn't even resist when Swoops shoved him over into the corner, up against the armrest, where he became a human pillow mostly by default. He also stayed put, sort of, because when Swoops regained consciousness, Parser was asleep with his feet going in the opposite direction, his legs pressed up against Swoops' body and his socks practically in Swoops' face.

Carly was right. Even if Parser never gave anything up, and even if he accidentally kicked Swoops' nose in on top of it, Swoops would still be down for driving, and hanging out, and watching Parser's cat basically on demand.

Parser shifted, settling further into his narrow slice of couch real estate as Swoops tried to reposition to avoid taking a heel to the mouth. He couldn't quite get out from under Parser, who was sort of half wedged against the cushions and half sprawled on top of him, but he did manage to wiggle over enough that Parser curled less dangerously into the gap, trained to usurp space over the course of a million plane rides.

He still had his head on Swoops' leg and one arm tucked around it, holding on in a way that made Swoops think about him putting his head on Swoops' knee the night before and refusing to be moved, waiting in Swoops' bed, closing his eyes all determined like a goal depended on it, except nothing had depended on it other than that Swoops had said to.

"Fucking Carly," Swoops grumbled, whispering at Parser's ceiling, where the messed-up blinds were throwing shadows. At angles and not parallel to each other. "What a fucking asshole."


End file.
